Wayward Sons
by noperson888
Summary: Sam and Dean find hunter blood along with a mysterious link to their dead father in two children. They take them in as apprentices, and as if that isn't enough, their lives are further complicated by a woman working alongside demons who's out for their blood, and a force that appears to be possessing people from the present, and taking them to the past.
1. Chaptah 1

CHAPTAH 1

SAM AND DEAN

"Find anything?" Dean asked, sipping his dark mocha.

"Nothing much," Sam answered, hitting a few keys on his laptop. "Closest thing is in the Carolinas, in Beaufort, NC. Some women were found shredded and attached to the ceiling."

"You think it was a demon, not a psycho with some Elmer's?"

"Maybe. Not sure yet, though. We'd have to go see."

"Well, then, what are we waiting for?" Dean asked, slapping some cash from the previous night's poker game on the table. "Let's go."

The brothers got into their 67 Chevy Impala and hit the gas. Sam was driving, while Dean took the time to sleep. A couple shifts later, they stopped in Charleston, SC.

"Why'd you stop?" asked Sam groggily. "I've got a couple more hours of sleep left."

"We're out of gas, and I thought here would be a good place to stop. Admire the architecture, the history..."

"The girls..." muttered Sam, running a hand through his hair.

"Them, too," agreed Dean. "So while you were snoozing, I booked us a hotel right near here. Tomorrow we can drive some more, but I think we're both pretty wiped. Who knows, maybe you'll find somebody..."

"Whatever, Dean," Sam replied. "Just get us there, and tomorrow we can leave."


	2. Chaptah 2

CHAPTAH 2: SAM & DEAN

Sam pulled open the blinds of the small hotel room. Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"Goddammit!" he yelled.

"Another night of drinking and gambling?" Sam asked, pulling the shades up. He smirked as his brother rolled off of the bed in an attempt to escape the light.

"Hey, you don't have to go and make assumptions,' Dean said, his muffled voice floating up from under the bed. "I mean, that is what I did, but still."

"Uh- huh. Anyway, we need to leave. We've been her for two days already, and already three more women have been slaughtered."

"Geez, impatient much?" Dean yawned, emerging from the bed with a black sock tied around his eyes. "I need to take a shower, and then we can go."

"Okay," Sam replied, "and I'll check up and make sure nothing else is going on."

"Whatever," Dean said, stepping into their small bathroom and closing the door.

Sam opened up his laptop and hit a few keys. The screen lit up, and Sam opened up his Internet. He had just begun browsing the news when Dean emerged from the bathroom.

"That was quick," Sam muttered without looking up.

"No hot water."

"Clearly. You're skin is practically blue."

Dean held out an arm. "Like it? I call it 'Complexion du Smurf.'"

"A million-dollar idea for sure. Hey, come check this out," Sam said, waving his brother over to the screen. "Some kids went missing."

"So?" Dean asked, shrugging. "Kids go missing every day. People call it 'Kidnapping'."

"But get this. They were all found a day after their disappearances like this." Sam scooted away so Dean could see the computer. On it were pictures of children of varying ages and sexes. Each was cut down the middle and were lying in a pool of their own blood.

"Creepy," murmured Dean. He looked at Sam. "But that doesn't mean a demon did it."

"That's what I thought, too. But then I noticed."

"Noticed what?"

Sam gestured to the photo. Dean squinted at it, and then looked back at Sam. "They're missing their vital organs."

"They're missing all of their organs. Every single one of those kids has nothing inside of them. It's like they're a shell."

"So did you find something in Dad's journal?"

"Not yet. I just found it, remember? You cover that up-" Sam waved his hand up and down to indicate Dean's towel-covered body, "and I'll find something on this." Sam pulled out the old leather-bound notebook that held everything their father knew about supernatural beings, and began to flip through the ripped pages.

An hour later, Sam still hadn't found anything. "Dammit!" he yelled, running a hand through his hair. "How can we have nothing? There's not even a trace of a creature that only eats organs?"

"No way," Dean commented. "Let me see." He flipped to a random page and scanned it. "Hey, what about this?" he asked, pointing to a humanoid spirit with mandibles.

"No," replied Sam. "It eats bones, too."

"This? It says it only eats organs," Dean suggested, holding up a page with a blue demon with needle-like arms protruding from it.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Except only from the elderly. Sam, just give it up. You won't find it, because it's NOT THERE."

"Well, if it's not in the book, there's only one way we're going to find out what's killing the kids."

"And what's that?" inquired Sam.

Dean flicked Sam on the forehead. "We have to interview the parents."


	3. Chaptah 3

CHAPTAH 3:

SAM & DEAN

The Winchesters walked up to the front door of the orphanage. After Sam had done more research on the mutilated children, he'd discovered a minor connection; each of them had dead parents and resided in the Monkstone Orphanage. Sam pulled on the brass knocker three times, and was about to knock it a fourth when a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length curly hair appeared. Behind her they could see a scrunched-up rug and dirty furniture sitting in pools of juice obviously spilled by some of the 10 or so kids under 8.

"Um, hi," Dean said, holding up his open wallet and revealing a card and a badge. "I'm Marcus Stevenson and this is Andrew Scallops. We're from Social Services, and we're here to check up on the orphanage."

"You know," added Sam, "after the recent disappearances, we just want to make sure you're... fully capable, and that these children are safe."

The woman tensed up. "Oh, of course. Just follow me."

She walked ahead and Dean brushed past Sam. "Nice job. 'We want to make sure you're... fully capable.'" he imitated in a ridiculously high-pitched voice. "You just put her on the defensive. How are we going to get her to warm up to us if she thinks her job hangs on every word she says?"

"Sorry," Sam muttered as they entered a small officewith glass walls. Around the office small children ran, giggling, screaming, and thumping into things.

"Geez," Dean muttered as a kid smeared a booger on the already dirty glass. "This is why I hate kids."

"What was that?" the woman asked."

"He asked you your name, Miss," Sam said.

She look at Dean and back at Sam. "Martha. Martha Peeples. Is there something wrong with the orphanage?"

"No," Sam told her. "We just wanted to double check that you are able to handle all of the children. You know, have enough food, a good education system..."

"A sanitary environment," Dean added, glaring at a 7-year old who was licking the glass. The kid promptly ran off.

"What brought this about?" Ms. Peeples inquired, folding her hands on her lap.

"Well, as you know, several children from the orphanage have gone missing recently."

"Yes," Martha replied.

"Could we know a little more about them?" Sam asked.

"Of course," Martha answered, getting up. She moved to a rusty filing cabinet and pulled a key from her

necklace, opening the top drawer and pulling out a couple of folders. She slapped them on the grimy wooden table and slid them toward Sam and Dean. Dean opened the top folder and a little girl smiled out at him. She looked to be about 12, with long blonde hair and sparkling green eyes. Dean flipped through some of the papers containing her records, the last paper being the police file on her murder and a picture of her mutilated body.

A tear dropped from Ms. Peeples's cheek as she murmured, "That is- was- Summer. Summer Bridges. Martha took a shaky breath as Sam opened the folders one by one, revealing eight more smiling or grinning children between the ages of six and fourteen. He murmured the names of the kids as he opened them.

"Chelsea Pond... Marcus Moore... Dean Blackstone..."

"Hey," Dean said. "He has the same name as me!" He looked up at Martha, but she was staring at him, horrified that he would be excited about matching names in a dead child's file. He looked down as he muttered, "Right. Sorry."

"I thought your name was Marcus," Ms. Peeples said, raising her eyebrow.

"It is," Dean lied smoothly. "I was referring to him." Dean patted Moore's folder.

Sam flipped through the rest of the files, but they were all the same in that they held no connections. Some were friends, some hardly knew each other. Different hobbies, different grades, different hometowns. Suddenly a child ran into the room and said, "Miss Martha! There's a phone ringing!"

Ms. Peeples looked at the brothers apologetically. "You'll have to excuse me. I need to get this, but I'll be right back to answer any of your questions." Her dark skin shone with nervous sweat as she walked out the room, hurrying after the child. Sam looked at Dean and saw him holding a phone under the table. The screen was bright and it was calling. Dean looked back at Sam and muttered, "Quick! Get out your phone!"

"For what?" Sam asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Dean placed his phone on the table and grabbed Sam's. As soon as he opened up the Camera app, Martha picked up on Dean's phone.

"Hello?" They heard Martha answer. Sam looked at Dean and Dean shrugged. Sam rolled his eyes as he picked it up.

"Hello? Hello?" Martha yelled into the phone. Sam could hear children screaming in the background. "If this is another one of those prank calls, I've already notified the police-"

"No, no, ma'am. Sorry, must've been a bad connection. Anyway, I'm Jamie Johnstone, I'm a reporter working for CNN, and I was wondering if..."

"Oh," Martha sighed. Sam imagined her slumping against the wall of the orphanage. "I've been through this with ya'll. I've got nothing to say. Those children were brutally murdered, but I have no idea how it happened. I don't know who did it, I don't know why. I can't offer up any clues as to why it was those children. I don't know anything. Now excuse me, I have guests," she said icily. She hung up, and Sam looked at Dean.

"You done yet?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean replied, snapping one last shot of the papers in the files. They'd Just slipped their phones back into their pockets as Ms. Peeples reentered the room.

"Sorry," she said. "Just some reporter. They haven't quit ever since... Ever since..." Martha trailed off and started sobbing.

Sam made a move to comfort her, but Dean shook his head. Instead Sam stood and said, "Thank you for your time, Ms. Peeples, but you seem to be..."

"Busy," Dean offered.

"Busy," Sam agreed. "We'll come back on a later date and do our examination. Thank you for your time..."

"Do you want me to see you to the door?" Martha asked, sniffing and standing.

"No, that's okay," Dean replied, waving his hand. "We'll find our way out." They could still hear Ms. Peeples crying as they left the strangely quiet house.


	4. Chaptah 4

CHAPTAH 4

DAVIS

"Who were those people?" I asked Herlie covering my mouth with my napkin so Martha wouldn't see me talking.

"I dunno," he replied, spooning some tasteless crap into his mouth to cover up his talking. "They looked suspicious, though."

"I completely agree. They had some nice stuff, though. You catch that Chevy?"

"IPhones, too. Top of the line, brand new. But is it just me, or did they not give off that 'loaded' vibe?"

"Didn't notice. What're ya thinking, though? Thieves?"

"Nah. They seem more like the insurance fraud types. And I think we can both agree they weren't from Social Services."

"Badges were fake, IDs falsified," I replied, taking a sip of some water. You couldn't hear our muttering over the clinking of silverware made by spreading the "vegetables" around the plates, but I kept an eye on Martha anyway. She was busy dealing with Indigo and Emily, who were two little kids constantly fighting over Indigo evidently revealed to Emily that Santa wasn't real, and the latter refused to believe it. I rolled my eyes and turned back to Herlie.

"You think they'll be back?," he asked, poking something concealed as meat on his plate.

"I swear that thing just slithered away from your fork. And about Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Scallops, I have no idea. But it seemed like they were up to something."

"Yeah," Herlie agreed.

"That means they'll probably come back," I noted. "We just have to figure out what. Did you see what they did in Martha's office?"

"No, what?"

"I'm asking."

"Oh," he replied. He leaned back in the stiff chair and looked at the dusty chandelier, thinking back. "Um, I think I saw Ms. Peeples pull something out of the top cabinet."

"What's in the top cabinet?" I asked. The office was the only place Herlie and I had never gone. Going in there meant immediate mark on your record and possible relocation.

"Something important, probably."

"No, really? I thought that was where she kept her newspapers."

"Whatever. Hey, maybe that's where the records are kept."

"That occurred to me. I mean, we've never seen exactly where the records are kept, anyway. But we also have never seen any proof that the records even exist and aren't even sure they are something like the bogey man; a punishment that doesn't exist, just something to keep us in line."

"We should go there tonight."

I swung around to face him. "Are you crazy?!" I whisper-yelled. Suddenly the room went quiet as Martha turned to us. Before she could say anything, though, one of the children burst into a coughing fit. His face turned bright red, and Martha stood up and sped over to him, not giving us a second glance as she helped the "choking" boy. Christian was an aspiring actor, which was why he was typically the distraction when we were caught. We had a network of orphans who covered for us 100% of the time, though. Most had been bought into it, although others were bribed or otherwise persuaded. We had limitless protection, and Martha never caught on to our little schemes.

Herlie looked at me as Christian started to calm down, and we slipped away from the table. Behind us, our plates, silverware, and cups were concealed, leaving no trace of our absence.

"Are you crazy?!" I repeated once we'd rounded a corner. "We can't break into the office! What if we get caught?"

"Well, we aren't just going to walk in there," he replied. "We have to make a plan, have a backup story. Stuff like that."

"Ugh. You make the plan, then. I'll come up with the backup story, and I'll see if one of the kids can act as support, just in case. Also, we have to do it tomorrow."

Herlie sighed. "Whyyyyyy?"

"Because. It's almost curfew, so none of the kids are going to be available. And besides, we need to map out the plan and take time to memorize it." Really I was just making up excuses so I would have time to work up some courage. Normally I had no problem with stuff like this, but that was because typically I could rationalize what we were doing or make up a really good excuse. Oh, yeah, Ms. Martha, we're taking this food to Forrest. You know, 'cause he's sick and too weak to get it himself... Usually it was something like that, something like 'we're getting it for someone else.'

Herlie sighed again. "Alright, fine. Tomorrow after dinner. You think up an alibi, and I'll get the key."

"How are you going to do that?"

He shrugged. "I'll figure it out."

"Whatevs. See you-" I pointed at him, "Tomorrow." I turned and walked upstairs to my cramped room. I pulled out a sheet of paper from the hidden bundle under my bed and sat on the floor. Along with the bundle was one cheap pen (all that I could risk stealing) which I grabbed. And then I began to plan.


	5. Chaptah 5

CHAPTAH 5

SAM & DEAN

"You know the story, right?" Sam asked Dean as he slammed the knocker against the door.

"Yes," Dean replied, rolling his eyes. "God, I can't believe you couldn't find a connection between the kids."

"Neither could you," Sam replied as the doorknob turned. Martha smiled at the brothers nervously as she welcomed them.

"Ah, Mr. Stevenson and Mr. Scallops. She glanced behind her at the messy house, and then back at what she thought were Social Services agents. "I apologize for the mess. I didn't realize you'd be back... so soon."

"We're just here to ask you some questions," Sam told her, entering the house with Dean following close behind. "Specifically about the missing children."

"Maybe you'd like to do this in your office," Dean suggested.

"Of course," Martha agreed. "Would ya'll like some sweet tea? Lemonade?"

"No, ma'am, we're fine," Sam stepped in before Dean could ask for something. "Let's just move this along, shall we?"

"Fine," Martha agreed, obviously becoming more nervous. "Is there something I need to know?" she asked, leading them to the small office. She opened the door to let them inside, but Sam took it.

"After you," he said,allowing Dean and Ms. Peeples to walk in before he followed, the door shutting behind him.

"Now, Martha," Dean said after they'd all sat down. "We need you to think. Was there any connection between the murdered children?"

"I've already talked to the police about this. No. I mean, I'm not a cop. What makes you think I would find a connection when even trained professionals can't?"

"You were around these children every day. You knew everything about them. You can't think of even one thing that made them alike?"

"Hold on," she said, holding her hands up. "Let me look through their records." She sighed as she stood up and went for the cabinet where she had retrieved the folders yesterday. She pulled the key from her neck and unlocked the drawer, opening it. Martha flipped through the folders. She straightened, furrowed her brow in confusion, and then rifled through them again, one by one this time.

"Anything wrong?" asked Sam, standing.

"It doesn't... I don't... They were here yesterday!" Martha exclaimed frantically, pulling at her hair.

"Ms. Peeples, calm down. What's gone?" asked Dean.

"The records," she said. "The records."

Sam looked at Dean, then began to flip through the folders. "She's right. The kids who went missing? Their folders are gone."

"Ms. Peeples," Dean asked, looking her in the eyes. "Can you think of anyone who would've taken them? Because whoever did it may be the killer."

Martha's eyes widened at the thought of that. "No! I mean, no one has been in here. I'm sure. If a stranger had come into the house, one of the children surely would've notified me. And how would he have known where I kept the folders?"

"We don't know, ma'am, but we have to keep our options open. I'm sure I don't have to remind you that currently you are the only one who didn't have a concrete alibi on any of the nights the children disappeared."

Martha turned to him with a shocked look on her face.

"What he's saying," Sam started.

"I know what he's saying, Mr. Stevenson," Martha interrupted. She gulped before continuing. "I've thought and thought, but I can't think of a single thing. I don't want to go to jail, but I can't just pull a connection out thin air, now, can I?"

"I understand," Dean said, pulling out a piece of paper. "You can reach us at this number if you think of anything," he added, scribbling down some numbers.

"Shouldn't I contact the police first?" Martha asked, raising an eyebrow. "After all, you are just Social Services..."

"We have more filed on the children, and we'll be able to verify the connection before we turn it into the police," Sam added while Dean slid the crumpled piece of lined paper across the table.

"I see," Martha said, pursing her lips as she tucked the paper into her apron. "Well, I'll let ya'll know if I think of anything. And would you mind sending over another copy of the children's files? I know it's probably nothing... but I'll keep my eyes open for the missing folders." She bit her lip. "You don't really think-"

"No, ma'am," Sam said. "They were probably just misplaced."

Dean pretended to check the time on his phone. "Scallops, we gotta go. We have another meeting across town in only a couple of minutes."

Sam looked at Martha apologetically. "Sorry, we've got to go. Remember, contact us if you find anything." He got out of his chair and he and Dean were just about to exit when Martha added, "And don't forget to send replacement files!"

As the brothers walked back to the front door, Sam leaned over to whisper in Dean's ear as they passed by some children playing with some assistants. "Why are we leaving?" he asked. "We were just turning up the heat to see if she knew anything."

"I know, but I don't think she'll come up with a similarity. I mean, we couldn't. Besides, I got a bad feeling about those missing files. Seems like someone didn't want us to find something."

"Someone... Or something," muttered Sam as they approached the door. However, just as Dean reached for the doorknob, something rammed into him at full speed.


	6. Chaptah 6

CHAPTAH 6

HERLIE

Slipping the iPhone into my pocket, I straightened and tried to not smile as I looked at Mr. Stevenson. I knew I was going to giggle, so it was good that Davis stepped in.

"Sorry," he said. "Our fault. We were... we were, um playing, playing tag, and, um, we just kinda... you know, ran into you." He looked at me. "Bad! I told you, stop trying to run away! Don't make be beat you again!" He winked at me, and I realized he was pathetically trying to play off his bad lying.

"What'd you say?" I growled getting him in a headlock. He jabbed me in the stomach with his sharp elbow, and I gasped, backing up and taking a glance at the 'Social Service workers' as Davis subtly pulled me steps away from them. They were talking to each other. The short one looked at me as he rubbed his side, and I felt Davis pull away and straighten, slipping the stolen iPhone into his own pocket. He then smiled and waved to the workers, innocent as can be. The tall one kinda half-waved back, and they both left out the front door.

"Well," Davis said. "That could've gone better."

"What? We got the phone."

"I know. But I NEED to work on that whole stuttering thing. Like, for real."

"Straight up," I said, not mentioning that I never got to do the talking. Evidently he doesn't trust me enough for the speaking parts.

"But let's get a look at that phone. You got the files, right?"

"Yeh," I replied, thinking about their hiding place under my mattress on the bottom bunk. "You really think that they took pictures of the files? Like, that's all they did?"

"I mean, it's not like they have been watching us. You know, like the other kids. They didn't seem psycho-killerish. But they've been asking question like crazy about the murders. I'm thinkin' they have something to do with it. They might not have committed it, but they clearly know something they think we don't."

"Yeah..." I agreed. "Hey, what if they know something about..."

"No. No, no, no. I know what you're about to say."

"What?" I asked. He always said it, but was always wrong.

He folded his arms. "You still think something killed our parents."

"Well, something did!"

"You know what I mean. You think it was something... I dunno, paranormal. Supernatural."

"Stop saying it like that!" I said.

"Like what?"

"Like you don't believe it."

"I don't! There's no such thing as ghosts or zombies or... or, I don't know, fairies! It's all make-believe! Our guardians were killed by a person. A person, Herlie. Not the bogeyman."

"Okay, okay," I said, backing down like usual.

"I mean, I'm not trying to, like, start something or anything. I just need you to... let go. Now let's go

check out what's on the phone."

"Yeh," I agreed, hiding my anger. He ALWAYS had to go and rile me up, and then pretend it was nothing! But I followed Davis nonetheless, looking over his shoulder as he unlocked the phone.

"Thbbbt. No password. Nice," he said, opening up the Photos app. He hit the screen and all the pictures on the phone were displayed.

"Hey, look at that," I said, tapping one of the photos. A guy with dark skin and short hair showed up on the screen, typed letters filling the space next to him.

Davis looked at me. "So? Who's he?"

I looked at him. "That's Malik!"

"Malik...?"

I sighed. "He was that guy in our class, the one who punched Dawn."

He clapped his hands. "Oh! I heard about that, but I wasn't in that class, remember? Didn't they start fighting because she cheated on him?"

"No, she threw something at him."

"Oh," Davis replied, looking back to the photo. "I'd heard they were dating. Anyway, wasn't Malik one of those kids who got killed or whatever?"

"Yeh," I said, sliding my finger to reveal a new picture. It was just a piece of white paper with typing all over it. "Hey, what is this?"

"I dunno," Davis replied, zooming in. He started reading, his lips moving as he scanned the words. "I think this is some like stalker thing on him. Like a, um, folder?" He scrolled past a few more pages with information about Malik. Suddenly he turned to me, his eyes wide, and I had just figured it out as he said it. "This is his file!"

"Really?" I said, grabbing the phone. As I scrolled back, I saw his GPA, his social security number, everything. "So what is this?" I asked. "Identity theft?"

"Lemme see," Davis demanded, snatching the phone out of my hands. He hit the screen and it again displayed the array of photos. "Oh my God..." Davis whispered. "Look! They have the frikkin' files on all those kids! The ones who got sliced up!"

He held the phone up so I could see pictures of all the missing orphans. "Whoa..." I said.

"Maybe they really ARE investigating this," Davis said thoughtfully.

"See? I told you."

"Yeh, but you said it was sumthin' paranormal. I'm just saying that they're probably investigating it." He raised an eyebrow. "Not to say they aren't bad people. They still have fake IDs." He lifted up the device. "This is probably stoled."

"Stoled?"

"Did I stutter?" He rolled his eyes and looked through the pictures again. "What the heck, though."

"Maybe we should ask them about it," I suggested. Davis looked at me and cocked his head as if I was an idiot.

"You moron! We can't ask them!" He waved the Phone in my face. "We stole their phone! They're gonna kill us if they know we have it!" He looked at the screen as it went to sleep. "We hafta put this in Lost & Found."

"What if they figured out that we did it?"

"Pffft. If they find out we pulled that con, they still can't prove it. And if they do, it's not like they can bring the cops into it."

I nodded. "'Cause they're just as fake as we are. Even more so, what with their fake crap."

"Straight up," Davis agreed, sticking the phone into his pocket.

"I'm gonna copy these down."

"Why?" I asked. That just seemed like a lot of work.

"I dunno... Just in case, I guess," Davis answered. "I mean, it couldn't hurt. And it's not like you're doing it," he added, turning around and putting his arms behind his head. "Then I'm stickin' this thang in Lost & Found. Then it's up to them whether they get it before someone else." With that Davis strolled over to the dining room, and I followed after him to have dinner.

After forcing down some discolored lumpy thing disguised as mashed potatoes, Davis and I met up as we climbed the stairs to our rooms.

"Guess what I found?" Davis said, tapping his pocket to indicate it had something to do with the phone.

"What?" I asked, turning to him. He quickly turned me so I was facing front though as a group of kids walked by.

"Bejeezus. We're gonna get caught if you make it obvious I have something. Anyway, I was scrolling through the contacts, and you'll never guess who I found."

"Who?" I asked, puzzled. There was no one I knew outside of the orphans and staff, since my whole family had passed away. So unless Miss Peeples was on the contacts list, I was sure the name would hold no meaning to me.

Instead of telling me straight up, Davis took his time and pulled me into one of hallways so he could take out the phone. The screen lit up and he unlocked it, taking us directly to the contacts list. I read through some of the names on the screen. Bela Talbot, Bobby Singer... I didn't recognize any of the names. As Davis scrolled, I saw more and more unfamiliar names. Finally Davis got down to the J and K section.

"See?" he asked, tapping one of the names. The bar lit up and took us to a page with a list of contact information. At any other time I would've been checking the number or email address, but the name had caught my eye. I recognized it from years ago on a rainy night when I was supposed to be asleep. I remember tiptoeing down the hallway and hearing my mom talking to someone. All I remember is one name, the same name glowing on the phone right now. **JOHN WINCHESTER**.


	7. Chaptah 7

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

_I hate doing these, but this had to be done. Depending on how far you are into the Supernatural series, you may not understand a part of this. Just replace the name 'Garth' with 'Bobby Singer.' Now, back to your regularly scheduled program. _**  
**

CHAPTAH 7

SAM & DEAN

"Where the hell is my phone?" asked Dean, patting his pockets.

Sam glanced sideway at him as he sat at the coffee table in their hotel room and searched for lore about whatever they were dealing with. "I dunno. Where did you leave it?"

Dean started searching through his suitcase. "Haha," he snarled. "If I knew where I left it, I wouldn't be looking for it!"

"Chill," Sam replied. "Why are you freaking out anyway? Just get a new one."

"Great. And I suppose we can just buy new copies of the kids' info, too?"

Sam turned to Dean. "We already looked through them. There's nothing there, remember? No connection whatsoever. Obviously this thing just chose the victims randomly."

"Oh, and they were all just COINCIDENTALLY from the orphanage?"

"Look, Dean, I'm trying to find something about our monster. You should, too, instead of worrying about some phone."

"Hey," Dean interjected. "Do you think that kid stole it from me? The black one?"

Sam turned away from his computer again. "You mean the one that rammed into you? Yeah, maybe. I mean, Dean, these kids are orphans. They're probably desperate for money. And, like I said, those files weren't any help anyway." Sam turned back around and typed something into the search engine. "Ugh. I can't find anything about this."

"Well it's not like we've got a lot to go on, Sam. Something that only eats organs. That's specific." Dean rolled his eyes. "Call Garth."

"Already did that," Sam replied immediately. "He couldn't find anything, either. He said he's gonna keep looking, though."

"What would you say it was if you HAD to guess, though?"

Sam ran a hand through his long hair. "I honestly don't know Dean. I mean, a few years ago we opened the gates of Hell. Who knows what kind of things we let out into the world."

"So you think it's a demon?"

"Maybe. Or it could be something we don't know about yet. I mean, we didn't know there was such thing as a rougarou until a few months ago. Who's to say that there isn't a gene that causes people to eat organs?"

"Wait," Dean said. "How do we know that this thing is EATING the organs? What if it's using them as... as a sacrifice or something?"

"I thought about that. But then I did some more research, and according to the police reports, bits of the organs were actually left at the scene. Enough was left for the mortician to discern bite marks."

"So... we're dealing with an honest-to-God cannibal here. Great." Suddenly a phone rang underneath the piles of clothes Dean had left on the floor when he'd been searching for his phone. The brothers looked at each other as the phone trilled.

"Is that yours?" Dean asked.

Sam held his up. "No. It must be Dad's."

Dean dug under the pile of shirts and pulled out a flip phone. "Hello?" he answered as he pulled it open.

Sam raised his eyebrow as he heard the muffled sound of someone talking through the phone. Dean furrowed his brow. "Who is this?" He paused, then angrily shut the phone. "Dammit!"

"Who was that?" Sam asked.

"I dunno! They asked for Dad- and not a fake name either. They asked for 'John Winchester'. When I asked who it was, they canceled the call."

"What was the number?" Sam asked. Dean flipped the phone back open and hit a button on the keypad, revealing a list of recent calls. The only one that was made within the last year was the one Dean had just took. As he read the number his eyes widened.

"What was the number?" Sam repeated.

"It was from my phone," Dean replied. Suddenly he threw their dad's phone on the ground. "I KNEW that voice sounded familiar! It was the kid who ran into me! Those freaking orphans stole my phone!"

"Calm dow-"

"No! I'm going over there right now," Dean interrupted.

Sam stopped him. "Dean! Wait. You can't go right now."

"And why the hell not?"

"If you go storming in without a badge, our cover will be blown. Just wait until tomorrow, and then report it to Martha."

"Fine," Dean pouted, crossing his arms. "But if I see either of those kids again, so help me..."

"Relax," Sam said, moving back to his computer. "And go to sleep."

"No," Dean replied, moving to the door. "I'm going to go get a new phone."

"Feel free," Sam told him as he slammed the door. He turned back to the computer and hit a link. It opened up to a black home page with flames and skulls lining the sides. "Ugh, not another occult site," Sam moaned, moving his mouse up to the "BACK" button. Just then something caught his eye. "What the..."

The page opened up to another black and fiery screen, but on it were pictures resembling the bodies of the murdered children; cut down the middle and apparently without organs. Sam furrowed his brow as he read.

By the time Dean got back Sam had scrolled through the whole page and copied it down onto a sheet of paper.

"Watcha looking at?" Dean asked, pulling a seat up next to his brother.

"I just found what we're looking for," Sam said, turning the laptop to Dean. He had pulled up Google Images, and it was stuck on a painting of a pack of sharp-teethed, clawed people feasting on the organs of what appeared to be a mummy.

"What' s that?" asked Dean, squinting.

"This is an Egyptian painting. You know how Egyptians used their paintings and carvings to tell stories, sort of like sophisticated cavemen?"

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding even though he remembered nothing from his 6th grade social studies class.

"Well, these paintings were found in burrows underneath several pyramids."

"Burrows?"

"Well, I use that term loosely. They were kind of like underground caves, just sitting under the pyramids. Archaeologists dismissed them as some sort of strange embalming area- you know, dark and cool so the body wouldn't spoil. But I did some further research, and I found out these kinds of paintings lined the walls. I looked up some theories about what they meant, and I discovered about the gladan virus. It originated in Egypt, obviously, but soon spread to the rest of Africa. Once the slave trade began the virus was shipped through the world."

"So that means we're looking for an African-American?"

"Not necessarily. This virus is actually very adaptable. Once the Africans brought it to the rest of the continents, the disease started infesting people."

"If this thing was so wide-spread, wouldn't we have heard about it?"

"That's the thing. Like the rougarou gene, you can resist the urge to gobble down people's organs. The difference is that, in the gladan virus, it's MUCH easier to resist. It's just like a craving, coming and going a couple times every month. And so many people have been able to resist it, the virus kind of went extinct for a while. During the Civil War it resurfaced because of the constant bloodshed, but then went into dormancy again. So it looks like whoever we're hunting is weak-willed."

"How did it start, though?"

"The ancient Egyptians buried their pharaohs in pyramids to honor them, and to aid in their journey to the afterlife. The organs were removed before the body was mummified and stuck in special preservation jars, which were buried with their king or queen. Evidently there was a separate kind of cult, one that believed eating the organs of royal humans would give them the power of gods. They never got any sort of power, but they sure got something else. When the royal family got wind that the organ pots were disappearing, they got a priest to put a curse on the organs of the next pharaoh that was buried. When the clan snuck in and devoured the insides- they got a surprise. Suddenly they were always craving organs, until one day one of them attacked someone in broad daylight. Needless to say, the group was caught and killed. Well, most of them. Several managed to escape and have kids, passing down the gene."

"Then it infested the rest of Africa, then the Americas, blah blah blah... and now we're dealing with our Glada.

"It's not called a Glada."

"What's it called, then?"

"Nothing. They don't have names, because of how rare they are. No one even remembers these things."

"So, technically we just discovered them.."

"No, actually-"

"So we get to name them. And we are calling them Gladas."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Anyway, every Glada has a specific type of person it feeds on. The ancient Gladas fed on pharaohs. Later, the North American Gladas fed on slaves or upper class members- just depending on the monster. As the Gladan Virus started infecting more and more people, their tastes began varying. Greatly. The Glada we could be looking for could like its victims for multiple qualities. We already know it likes children, but we don't know what else."

"How do we even know there's another trait?"

"Dean, think about it. This thing would be pigging out."

"And nine children isn't pigging out?"

"No. Not compared to what one of the these could do if it isn't controlled. According to this site, these things are super strong.. And we need to kill it before it kills any more kids."

Dean nodded. "But first, we need to find out who it is."


End file.
